Cannon had gotten out of him amounted
to perjury. “Bill’s cross-examination was so
devastating, so incredible, I’ve never seen
anything approaching that in any other
case I’ve tried,” Dunphy says.

Cannon frames their differences. “Weboth have skills that are probably notsimilar because our personalities are sodifferent. Pat is a brilliant trial lawyerand just so smart in everything he does.I’m more of the—to put it politely—take-no-prisoners school. But we both haveDunphy likes to make new lawyers atthe firm read Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers,a book about how it takes the alignmentof numerous circumstances to achievesuccess, not just talent alone. His owntalent met the right timing in Norbergv. Badger Guns, which received nationalattention in 2015. A West Milwaukeegun store had sold a firearm to a buyerwho was purchasing for a teenager whocouldn’t legally make the purchasehimself. The gun was used to shoot twoMilwaukee police officers, and Dunphyrepresented both of them.

It was only the second case of its kind
to go to trial since a 2005 federal law
handed broad protection to gun dealers.
The jury deliberated for nine hours before
deciding the store had broken four laws
and awarded the officers almost $6
million in health care costs, lost wages,
pain and suffering, and punitive damages.
(After the gun shop planned to appeal,
settlement was reached at the policy limit
of $1 million.)

The case drew national appeal, and wascited by Hillary Clinton on her campaigntrail in 2015. “The most important thingis that licensed gun dealers know that ifthey don’t adopt appropriate screeningmethods to assure they are not sellingto straw buyers, that they have potentialliability,” Dunphy says. “You can’t playPontius Pilate and say, ‘The straw personpassed the background check so I canwash my hands, I did my duty.’ … Hopefullyit creates incentive for licensed gun dealersJudge John DiMotto presided over thecase and recalls the “gravitas” Dunphybrought to his courtroom. “He knows hiscase inside and out, he’s very prepared, heanticipates things or issues that might beraised. In Badger Guns, it was clear to methat he had left no stone unturned in hispreparation,” he says.

“There are lawyers who don’t fully
understand what they’ve got before them
or don’t completely understand the issue …
but he was ready for everything,” DiMotto
continues. “It is a pleasure to have lawyers
like Patrick Dunphy and William Cannon
in the courtroom because you know when
they come in, it’s going to be a well-tried
case. … They have a very good reputation
in the legal community, and it’s well
deserved. They have earned it.”

DUNPHY STILL LOOKS TO CANNON as amentor. “I’ve been a lawyer 41 years, I’vetried some of the most complex civil cases inWisconsin and I’ve had the pleasure of tryingsome with Bill. Bill is the best courtroomlawyer I’ve ever seen. He is a brillianttactician and fiercely competitive. And quitefrankly, he taught me how to try a case. Icarried his briefcase around, watching whathe does. That’s how I learned.”Dunphy cites a 2004 medical negligencecase in which Cannon represented thefamily of a high school athlete, SarahHegarty, who died after enduring89 operations, including two organtransplants. Hegarty suffered from smallbowel volvulus and infarction—meaningher intestines had twisted and cut off bloodsupply. Cannon argued that her 1998death stemmed from a misdiagnosis anddoctor’s negligence at Children’s Hospitalof Wisconsin.

“[The hospital had] an unsupervised
first-year resident who knew next to
nothing about taking care of patients
overnight,” Cannon says. As a result of the
lawsuit, “now Wisconsin hospitals have a
real doctor on staff overnight. They don’t
let residents make [certain] decisions
anymore at night, and I think that’s made
hospitals a lot safer.” The jury awarded the
Hegarty family more than $25 million.

Then there’s Erica John and DonaldGallagher v. Harry John—“at the time, thelongest trial in Wisconsin history,” Cannonsays, with a record spanning 23,000 pages.The late Harry John, president of MillerBrewing from 1946 to 1947 and grandsonof the beer baron, began using a company-founded charitable organization to advancehis own religious agenda. De RanceFoundation had been established to providefinancial support for religious, charitableand educational causes, and in 1983 itsassets amounted to $188 million. John hadrun it down to about $50 million when Tomand the other foundation director, DonaldGallagher, to remove John as director. Tomthen brought William in on the case.

John allegedly squandered moneyinvesting in a national Catholic televisionnetwork, silver mines, a fortress in Colorado,sunken treasures, Mexican mutualfunds and more. He even commissionedthe creation of movies and sought todisseminate them via satellite transpondersthat had no customers on Earth. “Hebasically broadcast his religious films intoouter space,” Cannon says. “I think wepainted a very clear picture that spendingmoney searching for sunken treasure is notpermitted by the IRS. Just like it would beif you went out to Las Vegas and bet onthe roulette wheel; even if you won, that’sstill a violation. He had a lot of hangers-onthat were just duping him, and lots of theseprograms were just absurd.”Together, the Cannons succeeded ina 1986 bench trial. Even today, Williamsounds overwhelmed by the experience.“There was a real cast of characters in thatone,” he says. “It could have been a novel.”

CANNON RECENTLY RE TURNED TO HIS

old grade school to receive the Spirit
of Saint Jude Student Alumni Award,
which goes to a prominent graduate
whose lifetime accomplishments serve
as inspiration for students and alumni.

Driving through the neighborhood on theway home, he was struck by how much of itfelt the same.

Cannon and Dunphy still remember thevalues they absorbed from growing upthere: “Be truthful, honest, responsible,and hopefully have courage when youneed it,” Cannon says. “I’m very proud tohave grown up in St. Jude’s because a lotof people served as ideals—examples youwould want to emulate. You saw all thelawyers and doctors who preceded youand were committed to doing well in theirprofession and cared about helping otherpeople.”“When you look back on how strong thefabric of our families and our neighborhoodwas, you can see how that has beenreflected in the career paths we havechosen,” Dunphy adds. “In essence, whatwe are doing is protecting or helpingfamilies because that’s kind of what it wasall about for us. It’s a logical extension ofwhat we and our neighborhood was allabout when we were growing up.”